Chapter Text
It’s raining the night they bring Roboute to the group home.
It had been raining the whole week actually. Intermittently, but torrentially. He’s already received several flash flood alerts on his phone. The alert blared like a foghorn. He couldn’t figure out a way to turn that function off.
Wasn’t like it had been helpful anyway.
He fiddled with it all the way on the ride to the group home, only looking up when the case worker announced that they had arrived. The case worker unfurled a black umbrella and watched as Roboute manhandled his backpack and suitcase out of the trunk. Half an hour ago they both shoved all of Roboute’s worldly possessions into them. It was the worst pack-job he'd ever done. His father—
Roboute swallowed hard. He looked down and shouldered his backpack. In the few moments he’d been standing outside, he’d already gotten drenched to the bone. The caseworker held the umbrella out to him.
A little too late, he thought to himself. Mentally, he chastised himself and tried to be stoic.
It was hard when it felt like there was a cup of water sloshing around in each shoe.
The door to the building opened, revealing a middle aged man. He held a hand out to Roboute. “You’re Roboute Guilliman?”
He accepted the man’s hand and shook it. “Yes, sir.”
The man smiled and beckoned him in, “I’ve got him. You can head home,” he called to Roboute’s case worker. He turned to address Roboute. “You go by Rob?” he asked.
“No,” Roboute said. He entered the building. Glancing around he saw a pile of shoes next to the door and peeled off his soaked sneakers. “I prefer Roboute, please,” he added, hoping to sound polite.
“Ah, ok.”
Every teacher Roboute had since pre-kindergarden attempted to christen him Rob or Robu, or some variation, with the tone like they were trying to do him a favor. Like Roboute was too big a name for a small child. He’d always refused.
The man clasped his hand on Roboute’s wet shoulder, “Well, I hope you feel welcome here. I’m Darius, the residential manager.” He was about to say something else, but a wet crash from the kitchen interrupted him. He winced. “Let’s, ah, let’s go meet your house mates and then you can go up and get changed.”
Roboute would have really preferred to do this in the opposite order, as meeting a bunch of other teenaged bits while sopping wet sounded like a nightmare. He didn’t get the option, because the house manager was already yelling for everyone to gather ‘round. They entered the kitchen to see several boys hastily cleaning up what looked like half a gallon of spilled milk. A tall, wide teenager with double arm prosthesis was holding the mostly empty gallon of milk, looking like he would rather be doing anything else.
“Oh, good job guys,” The house manager said, clearly surprised that they were cleaning up after themselves. “Oh good, Leman’s got more paper towels.”
Meanwhile, Roboute bit down on his cheek and tried to suppress a shiver. He wondered if he could get some of those paper towels. A small puddle had begun to form around him. He shifted nervously, as more teens began to enter the room. He pulled at his shirt, thankful he wasn’t wearing white.
Eventually, the milk was cleaned and the group manager began introductions. “Alright boys, this is Roboute. He’ll be staying with us for a bit.”
“For a bit?” One of the boys said, he sounded incredulous. “Define a bit, Darius.” He crossed his slim arms over his chest and cocked his head, long silvery hair shaking. He sounded oddly authoritative for a teenager.
“Well… Fulgrim, that depends on a few things.”
Roboute bit down harder on his cheek.
Fulgrim threw his hands up. “You’ve got us packed three to a room, Darius. At least tell us if this is a temporary placement or not.”
“It depends on if a stable family member can be found to take him in,” Darius said quickly, trying to respect Roboute’s privacy but also answer Fulgrim’s question. “No one knows how long that will take.” He glanced at Roboute realizing how harsh it sounded. “I mean…”
He waved it off. “It’s fine,” he said flatly. Unbidden, he thought of his step-mother Tarasha. Battered, bruised, and hooked up to a machine helping her breath. Not for the first time he wished they had let him stay in the hospital with her
Darius continued. “Anyway, let’s make him feel at home,” he said to a thunderous quiet.
Roboute didn’t blame them. Three to a room sounded more like a barracks than a home.
“C’mon guys,” Darius said, sounding genuinely upset, “Every group home in the city is over packed and under-staffed, work with me here.”
“What do you want? Applause?” Another teen asked. He was Asian and had his dark hair shaved into a mohawk.
Darius sighed, “No, now c’mon let's introduce ourselves.”
No one spoke.
At this point, Roboute had to visibly grimace to keep himself from shivering and Darius took pity on him, choosing to rapid-fire introduce all sixteen of his new housemates. It was not an ideal way to be introduced to over a dozen new people, but Roboute’s memory was exceptional, which his father had always encouraged. Grapheme-color synesthesia, that’s what they called it. A condition that he and his father both shared. It often struck people as odd that the two stony faced Guillimens had a condition so… artsy, but it made memorization trivial. Tarasha teased them about it mercilessly—any time his father, Konor, would shrug and say he didn’t much care what colors she painted the walls or brought her, a periwinkle dress instead of the sky blue one she would—
Roboute bit down so hard on his cheek that he tasted blood. He was thinking about his father in the present tense again. Like the man was just on some business trip and would be back in a few days. Like he wasn’t dead. Dead and buried, the soil still fucking wet and loose over his coffin, whileTarasha lay in a coma. Her chances of waking up rapidly slipping away with every second that ticked mercilessly by.
Darius clapped a hand onto Roboute’s wet shoulder, “You’ll be rooming with Lion and Sanguinius.” He said it like it was freshman orientation at college. “Guys, why don’t you show him up to your room, so he can sort his things and get changed?”
“Can I shower too?” Roboute asked, through gritted teeth.
“Of course,” Darius said with a sad smile. Like Roboute was a wet lost dog… which wasn’t too far from the truth.
The assembled crowd dissipated. Roboute stared at Lion and Sanguinius. Lion was tall, imposing, and had an impressive beard for someone still in high school. It didn’t quite meet the criteria for a full beard yet, but it was impressively thick—especially for a blonde. He stared at Roboute with cold green eyes. Face not betraying any emotion. Roboute wondered if he was angry he had a second roommate now.
If Lion was icy, Sanguinius was the polar opposite. A warm smile crossed the other boy's face. It made Roboute nervous and embarrassed for some reason.
He was beautiful. Roboute had never wanted to describe another man like that before. Even Fulgrim, who was, admittedly, devastatingly handsome didn’t compare to Sanguinius’ effortless beauty. His skin tanned like honey. Hair that fell around his shoulders in loose curls like a golden halo. A touch androgenous—with long eyelashes—but still masculine, his jaw strong.
Roboute had never known what it meant to be “tragically beautiful”, but he understood it when he looked at Sanguinius. Understood when he saw the boy’s gentle smile and sad eyes. He was like a marble statue of some blessed saint, made into flesh and blood.
Lion snapped Roboute out of his admiration. “I’d better not catch you in any funny business,” he said gruffly.
Roboute’s opened his mouth, no words coming out, momentarily taken out by someone under the age of forty saying “funny business” with a straight face.
The older teen nodded, heavy brow still furrowed. Assured that Roboute would now behave he turned and waved for Roboute to follow him. “C’mon.”
Next to him, Sanguinius stifled a good natured laugh.
As they moved to leave, another teen gave Roboute a friendly elbow. He was built like a linebacker, dark hair shaved bald. “Don’t mind Lion,” he said, “He’s suffered under the delusion that he runs the place.” The teen gave Roboute an easy grin, and held out a hand. “Horus Lupercal,” he said, despite just being introduced to Roboute.
Roboute accepted the hand. The greeting was unnecessary as he had remembered Horus’ name, but he appreciated the thought. “Roboute Guilliman,” he said in return.
Horus nodded at him and glanced at Sanguinius. He seemed less dazzled by the teen than Roboute was. “Catch you later, Sang.”
“Yeah,” Sanguinius said, “I’ll be ‘round after I help Roboute.” He gave Horus a grin as the other teen clapped him on the back and walked off.
Idly, Roboute wondered if everyone called Sanguinius ‘Sang’ or if Horus was special.
“I am leaving you behind,” Lion announced.
Sanguinius made an exaggerated face, clearly wanting to make Roboute laugh. He realized this a half second too late, and instead gave Sangunius an awkward smile. “We’d better hurry,” Sanguinius said. “Lion will lock us out.” He sounded like he was speaking from experience.
He led Roboute to the staircase that Lion was already scaling. “Our room is on the top floor. I think it was an attic once, but it’s been converted.” He glanced at Roboute, in all the teen’s wet dog glory. “I’ll point out the shower to you while we go up.”
“Thanks,” Roboute said. “I’m freezing.”
“I can tell.”
Sanguinius glanced back at him and said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope they find your family members soon.”
“They won’t,” Roboute said, flatly. Realizing how brusk he sounded he added, “My mother walked out on my dad and I when I was a toddler. Haven’t heard from her since. I doubt she’d turn up now.”
“I’m sorry,” Sanguinius said. He sounded so genuine that it almost cracked through the wall Roboute had built around the gaping wound that had been this week.
He swallowed, unwilling to touch that mess. Let it live in a small compartment in his head, unable to intrude into his daily life. “It’s ok,” He said looking at Sanguinius, acutely aware that no one ended up in a group home without having something going horribly wrong in their lives. It made him feel guilty.
Sanguinius shook his head, curls bouncing. “Still sucks.”
“I had my step-mom,” he deflected. He felt caught between feeling like he was fishing for pity and like he was bragging about having people in his life. “She was more of a mother to me than my bio-mother.” He caught himself. “She is,” he corrected.
He looks up and realizes that Sanguinius is staring at him. After a beat, he says, “It’s ok. You don’t have to tell me.”
Roboute does. Just to prove to himself that he could do it with a steady voice. “Car accident. My father passed. My—my step-ma is in a coma.”
“Shit, dude,” Sanguinius swears. “That’s… fuck. Will she be ok?”
Panic grows in Roboute’s chest again, statistics and percentages swimming in his head. He hated how good his memory was now, unable to forget the research he’d done after the doctors broke the news to him. “It varies,” he says, trying to force himself to be optimistic. It went against his nature. “Most people come out in a month or so.”
“Good,” Sanguinius gave him a lopsided grin. “If you need to talk, hit me up. Also, showers on the third floor. First door on the right.” He jerked a thumb in the direction.
Roboute did not, in fact, want to talk. He did want that shower though.
They climbed to the top floor. Lion opened the door. As he entered he switched on a heater.
“Gets cold up here,” Sanguinius said. He flung himself onto a bed. “Our overlords were gracious enough to provide a heater.”
The room was snug, even with two people. There was just enough room to cram three single beds in. He noticed luggage under their beds. They must be living out of that as he didn’t see any dressers. That was likely why they had been two to a room rather than three like Fulgrim. He wondered what conditions the other duo were in.
“We’ll divide the room into thirds,” he said, firmly, “You’ll be in the center.” He didn’t say it but it seemed that Sanguinius’s slice of the room was far left and Lion’s was the far left. “Please keep your things contained there.”
“Or he’ll get the tape out,” Sanguinius said. It didn’t sound like he was joking.
It didn’t worry Roboute. He could keep a room tidy. “Sounds fair.” He said maneuvering his luggage to the bed.
“Good,” Lion said. “Now, I need to go help Corvus with his homework.”
Roboute remembered Corvus. He looked like the youngest boy housed here, and appeared extremely shy. He wondered if Corvus had actually asked for Lion’s help or if the older teen had appointed it upon himself.
The teen continued, “I lock the door at 10pm,” he said. “If you’re not here by then, I won’t open it up again.” Lion turned on his heel and stalked off.
Sanguinius sat up on the bed. “Lion’s…a lot, but he’s not that bad when you get to know him.” He looked over at Roboute. “Most everyone here is fine when you get to know them. I mean… Perturbo is a dick, but he’ll leave you alone if you leave him alone.”
“Thanks for the tip,” he said. He could have guessed that though. No one seemed overly enthused to meet Roboute, but Perturabo was the only one who’d appeared outright angry.
“Just keep an eye out for Konrad,” Sanguinius said.
“Oh?”
“He’s not…” Sanguinius paused searching for the right word. “More dangerous than anyone else but…”
Roboute turned to look at Sanguinius.
“He likes to watch people sleep,” Sanguinius said, apologetically. “Nearly gave me a heart attack the first time I caught him staring at me.” Sanguinius fell back on the bed making an exaggerated death expression.
“Heh,” Roboute said, “Hence the door locking.”
The handsome teen sat up. He cocked his head, soft curls falling over his shoulders. “You're welcome by the way. Lion wanted the door locking time to be at 9:30. I argued him up to 10 pm.”
“Thanks,” Roboute said. He smiled and for the first time in days, it felt genuine. Sanguinius carried himself with such a gentle ease it felt impossible not to like him.
“Don’t tell Darius though,” Sanguinius said. “We’re not supposed to lock the doors.” He rolled his eyes, “But he also can’t stop Konrad from roaming around at night staring at people, sooooo.” He glanced at Roboute seeing that the other teen had dry clothes in his hands. “Oh, sorry. I’ll stop with my tale of woe. I’ll let you go dry off.”
Roboute waved it off. “It’s fine. It’s way warmer up here.” He was still freezing but he didn’t feel like he had to clench his jaw to stop from shivering.
“Still,” Sanguinius swung his legs off the edge of the bed. “I’ll let you get to it.”
The other teen nodded. Sanguinius probably wanted to go hang out with Horus again. “Thanks for your help.”
Sanguinius waved it off. “No prob. Hopefully though you’ll be outta here soon, bro.” He stood and clapped Roboute on the shoulder.
Roboute smiled, and then a tendril of guilt rolled in his chest. “You too, man,” he said. It was the wrong thing to say. He knew this as soon as it came out of his mouth.
The sad look was back in Sanguinius’ eyes, but mercifully he didn't call Roboute out. He simply gave Roboute another little clap on the shoulder. They broke apart. Roboute heading off to the bathroom, and Sanguinius disappearing downstairs, likely to go hang out with Horus.
He felt defeated. He felt bad for feeling defeated. He had more important things to worry about than whether or not Sanguinius liked him. Roboute tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t matter. In a few days, Tarasha would wake up, and they’d be home together.
Roboute entertained the idea that maybe they’d still remain friends. They’d be in different school districts, but there were phones, and he’d likely be able to use Tarasha’s car. She might have difficulties driving it anyway.
Groaning, Roboute rested his forehead against the shower wall. He was thinking too much.
After a moment longer, he shut off the water, and dried himself off. He didn’t feel much better, but at least he was warmer. He gathered up his damp clothing, quickly drying off the damp spot they had left with a towel. No one had told him where the dryers were. Hopefully, he could find them.
He exited the bathroom, almost running into another body. Roboute’s blue eyes had to flick up to look him in the eyes. Mortarion, he remembered. The teen was tall and gangly, with a nasty case of cystic acne spreading across his jaw and cheeks like a rash. He wore a dark green hoodie, the hood pulled up over his greasy hair.
“Sorry,” Roboute said.
Mortarion snorted.
Ah, another person angry that Roboute was there. He took a steadying breath, trying to remind himself that this was a shitty situation for everyone here and he might have a chance to escape it soon. It was natural that there would be some resentment. Roboute tried to look at it from a clinical angle. Perceive, understand, and move on. Be the kind of man that Konor Guilliman wanted him to be.
He couldn’t intellectualize his way out of the sting he felt from the cold look in Mortarion’s eyes.
“I’ll see you around,” Roboute said, trying to be diplomatic. He stepped around Mortarion. “Have a good night.”
Mortarion’s head followed Roboute as the smaller teen moved around him. He said nothing.
Roboute grimaced. If this, according to Sanguinius, was “fine when you got to know him”, Roboute shuttered to find out what Konrad was like.
Fortunately, he didn’t get a chance that night. He found Vulkan down in the kitchen, and the large teen offered to help him dry off his clothes. Vulkan fortunately, was much more personable than Mortarion, or even Lion, and shockingly two years younger and a grade behind Roboute, despite having at least three inches on him. They had a good laugh about it, sitting on top of the rickety washer and dryer.
He could hold out. Roboute thought to himself. It wouldn’t be terrible. It would suck, but he could make it. Besides, he'd just turned sixteen. He’d only have to wait out two more years then.
He just wished Tarasha would wake up soon.